


The Wayne Who?

by nightkat



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bat Family, Batfamily Feels, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Racism, Xenophobia, superbat if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 04:03:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15016259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightkat/pseuds/nightkat
Summary: It's been one year and six months since the Batman arrived in Gotham. It's been one year since Bruce Wayne moved back to Gotham. But he didn't come back alone. No one really knows anything about the Wayne family.  But a reporter stakes out the Wayne mansion and attempts to capture firsthand who exactly lives in Wayne Manor. Key word: attempts





	The Wayne Who?

**Author's Note:**

> An AU where all of Bruce Wayne's kids are still kids!

It’s been one year and six months since the mysterious Batman arrived in Gotham. He came suddenly, with a vendetta for justice and honor. Criminals who had previously wreaked havoc on Gotham’s streets now cowered in the shadows. Gotham PD restarted operations six months ago. Arkham Asylum was once again busy with patients, particularly one patient, The Joker, who remained free for years as a terrorist. What was once a city run by corrupt politicians and controlled by gangs was now a gutted city, light piercing through clouds for the first time for the citizens of Gotham. Crime was being exposed, and the corruption slowly drained into Gotham bay.

It’s been one year since the Wayne family moved into Gotham city. Rumors were that Bruce Wayne used to live in Gotham long, long ago, before he disappeared. The Wayne manor was left untouched for all the years the sole Wayne heir was gone, out of respect for the charity work and generosity the Wayne family had given to Gotham generations ago. Now, Bruce Wayne was back.

But it’s rumored that he didn’t come back alone. Snooping citizens sometimes saw Bruce Wayne with—children? Teenagers? The gates to the Wayne manor were kept firmly closed. News anchors could only catch dark cars leaving the manor every once in a while, but no one seemed to be able to tail the cars. Sometimes, on a rare moon, some could spot some dark-haired boys approaching the gate. But with the high-tech security and Bruce Wayne’s wishes for privacy, no one dared to come closer. Out of respect, maybe, but also out of fear. Bruce Wayne’s warnings didn’t come lightly.

While Bruce Wayne built a year’s worth of reputation as a playboy, he remained elusive as ever with personal information.

But not anymore! Anne Jackson was determined to get the scoop on the Wayne family. She recently moved to Gotham and, like every citizen, became intrigued by the old family lineage of Gotham. Ever since Bruce Wayne came back, he’s been pouring money into charities and the city. Life’s been improving for citizens of Gotham, and it wasn’t just because of Batman.

She snatched a job at the Gotham Gazette almost immediately. After all, her connections with the Daily Planet were gold. However, she’s been empty on exciting stories. There’s enough Batman stories to go around, and nothing really _happened_ in Gotham that didn’t have to do with Batman. Nothing . . . excepts the mysterious Bruce Wayne, and the people who live in Wayne manor. Privacy be damned, she _will_ find out the truth.

“You sure about this, Anne?” Bill asked. He was her cameraman. Nothing like Jimmy Olson back at Metropolis, but he got the job done. “Bruce Wayne could get us arrested for this.”

Anne scoffed and shoved some papers in Bill’s face. “I already checked up on Gotham’s laws. Wayne property ends 10 meters past the gate. We can technically stand 10 meters away from the gate, and he can’t do anything about it.”

“I mean, sure, but doesn’t he have kids? This feels wrong.”

“We don’t actually _know_ if he has kids or not. It’s not our fault if they happen to be kids and get caught on camera.” Anne rolled up the papers and stuck it in her backpack. “Let’s stake out the Waynes.”

* * *

 

The first person to appear at the Wayne mansion was _not_ who the reporters were expecting.

A small blue buggy drove up the steepish hill that led to Wayne manor. It parked neatly at the sidewalk, around a block from the actual mansion. A large, built man with a kind smile stepped out of the tiny car. He dutifully put in some quarters at the meter before he walked the rest of the way towards Wayne manor.

There was something . . . something familiar about this man—

“Clark?” Anne exclaimed, jumping from the bushes just as Clark was 10 meters away from the gate.

Clark Kent jumped back, startled. “Um. Anne? What are you doing here?” He leaned to the side, spotting Bill with his camera, which was rolling. “And why do you have a cameraman with you? Wait, are you taping me right now?”

“I moved to Gotham. I’m with the Gotham Gazette now. The more important question is, what are _you_ doing in Gotham? It’s a long way from Metropolis.” Anne narrowed her eyes, before widening them. Striding forward, she thrust her microphone underneath Clark’s chin. “You’re here for Bruce Wayne, aren’t you? What’s your relation to Bruce Wayne? Are you here on a scoop? Because I’ll have you know, Bruce Wayne is _mine.”_

“Woah,” Clark said, stepping back. He scratched the back of his head and offered a smile. “No, I’m not here for a story. I—I guess, Bruce is a, err, friend? I was just here to . . .”

“Clark!” A squeaky voice shouted. The intercom on the gate burst to life, surprising all three of them. Despite the static, it was obvious a child was speaking. It was definitely not Bruce Wayne’s deep voice. “The security recognized your heat signature! Come in already, Alfred made _cookies!_ Plus, Bruce misses you! _”_ The gate clicked and hissed as it unlocked its multiple security measures.

“Uh, well, it was nice seeing you again, Anne. Though I suggest you finish up whatever story you’re doing on Bruce. Mr. Wayne doesn’t really like his privacy invaded.” Clark gave another smile, a short wave, and then casually walked through the gates, leaving Anne and her cameraman dumbfounded and confused. 

* * *

 

The second person they caught on tape caught _them_ first. Anne had just started the stakeout for the day, settling behind the usual bushes, waiting for one of the Waynes to either come in or out of their home. Bill, cursing his job, had his camera pointed towards the gates.

“Excuse me,” said a polite voice from behind them. Anne yelped and whirled around. Bill stumbled from his crouch and fell face first into the bushes. Pen and notepad dropped, Anne hurriedly patted around the leaves to gather them. Meanwhile, the voice continued, “Why are you spying on my home?”

Damn! She thought she’d picked the perfect hiding spot. Anne jerked her head up from the ground, ready to yell at the person for rudely startling her, when she came face to face with a frowning . . . kid? Wait, did this kid just say this was his home?

Anne scrambled up to her feet, pen and notepad ready.  “Who are you, squirt? What’s your relation to Bruce Wayne?”

The frown turned into deep amusement. He had blue eyes and black hair, but unlike Bruce, he was short and slender, even for a kid. His hair was neatly gelled so that his bangs parted in the middle. The kid couldn’t have been more than eight. “You’re spying on my home, and you don’t even know me?”

“I—I’m not spying!” Anne sputtered. “I’m not breaking any American law, and I’m not on your property, am I?”

The boy looked from her notepad and pen to the disheveled cameraman with a rolling camera. His eyebrow raised. “I guess you’re not breaking any laws, Miss. I’ll leave you to your . . . hobby then.” He sidestepped around them, approaching the gate.

“W-wait!” Anne called. “You didn’t answer my question! What’s your name? Are you Bruce Wayne’s son?”

He ignored her in favor of pushing the intercom button. “Bro-o-se? Alfred? I forgot my access card again. Sorry.”

Nothing was said in reply, but seconds later, the gate clicked and hissed open. Before the boy walked through, he turned around and gave a shy grin. “If you want to know more about us, you could just set up a press appointment and ask nicely. Alfred could teach you some manners, Anne Jackson.” With that, he waved, heaved up his backpack, and entered through.

Anne and Bill watched the boy run across the massive front of his home. It took the reporter five minutes later to realize she never gave him her name.

* * *

 

A strange visitor popped up the following day.

Bill was already filming when it happened. A girl skipped down the sidewalk and started up Wayne Manor. She had bright red hair, tied up tight in a ponytail.

Before the girl could approach the gate, Anne ambushed her. “Hey! You!”

The girl stopped her skipping and turned to face Anne. She wore an annoyed expression, a hand propped on her hip. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

“Well, I’m Anne, so I guess we’re not strangers anymore,” Anne quipped. She surveyed the teenage girl ( _barely. Sheesh, what was with all the young kids?)_ before realization dawned on her. “Aren’t you the commissioner’s daughter? Barbie?”

Barbara huffed and crinkled her nose. “ _Barbara._ And yes, I am. What do you want?”

“What business do you have with the Waynes? Why are you visiting them today?”

“Business?” Barbara asked, eyebrows raised. “Uh, I don’t have any _business_. Uncle Bruce and my dad are friends? Don’t you watch T.V.? And I’m friends with Dick, so.”

 _Uncle? Hm . . . Interesting._ Anne wrote fervently in her notepad. “Who is ‘Dick’? Who else lives here?”

“Why are you interrogating me? That’s like, weird. I don’t have to answer you, I know my rights!” Barbara exclaimed as she backed away. She blew a raspberry at them before running the rest of the way to the gate.

Anne wiped the residue of spit off her with disgust. She hated kids with a passion.

* * *

 

“Master Bruce, it seems that Anne Jackson Master Timothy and Master Clark told you about is becoming a nuisance.”

“I’m aware, Alfred. But she’s not intruding on our property, yet, and she hasn’t done more harm other than question them. We’re keeping an eye on her.”

* * *

 

She met the next Wayne kid in a similar fashion as the first one. This time, she dignified herself by not screaming when a voice spoke up behind her. Bill, unfortunately, still fell into the bushes.

The assailants were two young girls, also around the same age as the first boy. One had the signature black hair of the Waynes, and the other had surprisingly bright, blonde hair. Both wore matching clothes.

“Why are you hiding behind a bush? Are you a kidnapper?” The blonde one asked. She leaned awfully close to Anne, eyes squinted in suspicion.

“I am not a kidnapper!” Anne said, offended. “I am a reporter from the Gotham Gazette. What’s your relation to Bruce Wayne?”

“Oh-h.” The blonde girl grasped the silent one’s hand and tugged them around the two. “The press. Boring. Come on, Tim is waiting for us. You _know_ how he eventually does our math homework for us.” They both giggled and walked to the gate.

“Hey!” Anne shouted. She was _sick_ and _tired_ of these kids _disrespecting her_ and not giving a straight answer! It’s been four days of staking out, and she had _nothing_ for her story! “Didn't your parents teach any manners? An adult asked you a question!”

The girls paused in front of the gate. Their steps faltered. Eerily, the silent girl with black hair turned around and gave Anne the most ferocious glare she had ever seen an eight-year-old give.

“Our parents are dead.”

* * *

 

Anne actually got to meet the aforementioned Alfred the next day. In fact, it was her lucky day, because not only did ‘Alfred’ show up, so did three boys she hadn’t met before plus the boy from earlier. She was beginning to think that Wayne manor was actually an orphanage.

They had obviously gone out for a fun evening. All four of the boys were holding ice cream cones, joking with each other as they walked up the road. A butler followed them at a leisure pace, a gentle smile adorning the older gentleman.

Anne was creeped out that she had never seen them leave the building—she’s been here all day, damn it—but there must be a back entrance she can’t access. Still, at least she could bump into them now.

The five saw her several feet away. They kept approaching their home, but their gazes turned apprehensive.

Four boys. The one from earlier, this time dressed in casual clothes, rather than the pristine uniform Anne first saw. A tall, tanned teenage boy held the hand of the smallest brown-skinned boy. The smallest was the wariest of all, lagging his steps so that his body hid partially behind the teenage boy’s leg. The last one had black hair to match the rest, except for the odd white streak in his bangs. He was younger than the teenage boy, but bigger than the first boy Anne met.

They definitely did not look like brothers. Maybe Anne was right. This was an orphanage.

“Aw, come on, Alfred. Bruce won’t be that mad that I dyed my hair, right? It’s only just a streak! I was dared to!” The one with dyed hair whined aloud as they approached Anne.

“I dunno,” the teenage boy replied. “Remember when you went missing for two hours because you were trying to get your ear pierced? You were grounded for a month.”

“Quite right,” the old butler said.

The earliest boy with parted bangs tugged onto the teenage boy’s pants. “Hey, that’s the woman I told you about, earlier.”

“The stalker?” The teenage boy bent down to scoop up their youngest, who was beginning to make distressed noises. “Sh-h, everything’s fine.”

“Should we take the back entrance?”

“Ugh, but that’s all the way around!”

Soon, they were all in front of her. Three pairs of blue eyes, a pair of green, and one pair of brown stared at her with a mixture of suspicion and expectancy. Anne felt strangely exposed. Bill started up the camera.

“Hi, Lady,” the one with dyed hair greeted loudly. “You’ve been stalking us for the past week.”

“I was not stalking!” Anne protested, face heated. “I am doing my job. I’ve been trying to get information about Bruce Wayne.”

The boy she met earlier tilted his head. “Why?”

“That doesn’t matter.” Anne huffed and flipped to a fresh page of her notebook. “Do you boys live here?”

The kids glanced up at Alfred, who remained impassive. The smallest one in the oldest’ arms didn’t seem to care and buried his face into the boy’s neck.

Dyed-Hair Boy shrugged. “I mean, most of the information is in Gotham archives. So, yeah, we do.”

Excellent, excellent, she wrote down their descriptions in her notepad. “And your names. . .?”

 “My name’s Jason,” the one with dyed hair pointed to himself and then to the earliest boy she met. “That’s Timmy. He’s eight. Like a baby.” He shifted his finger to the oldest one. “Dick. Or Dickface. Whichever.” The teenage boy rolled his eyes. “And the one in his arms is Damian. He just turned two. And that’s Alfred. He’s like, 100. He likes to be a buzzkill.”

“Master Jason,” Alfred chastised.

Damian shifted in Dick’s arms impatiently. He tugged onto the collar of Dick’s shirt. “Papa. I wanna see.”

“In a minute, baby bird,” Dick soothed, patting Damian’s back.

Anne scribbled down their names and ages fast. Finally! Finally, some actual information! “And what’s your relation to Bruce Wayne? Why do you live here? Where did you come from? Why did Bruce Wayne disappear but reappear last year?”

They all stared at her, different expressions worn on each boy. Some of suspicion, others of annoyance, and mostly mocking amusement.

“Sorry,” the one named Jason said. “That’s all you’re gonna get. Come on, Timmy, I totally found out how you’re beating me at that game.” He hooked an arm around the smaller boy’s neck and dragged him towards the gate. The boys followed, each never giving her another glance as they passed her.

Anne felt her face blush red with fury. She slammed her notepad against her thigh and stomped her heeled foot. “ _Excuse me!_ I’m entitled to more than just _that!”_

The one named Dick stopped to give her a warning look. “You’re not entitled to anything, Miss.”

 “And what?” Anne crossed her arms. She took in Dick and Damian’s brown skin and facial features. Aha. “You’re . . . the Help?”

The boys got quiet. Something in the air changed, but the dense woman didn’t pick up on it. Any amusement that had been held in each of their eyes disappeared. Dick had visibly recoiled, hurt prominent on his face. He brought a protective hand over Damian’s small head and tightened his grip, as if Anne was a visible threat. Damian protested, not quite understanding, but knowing something the woman had said upset his brother.

“What the fuck did you just say?” In a flash, Anne was pushed by small but strong hands. Surprised, she staggered back until she slammed against a lamp pole. Jason, even though he was shorter than her, stood right at her toes and glared into her eyes. Bill switched the camera to focus on Anne. “You think that just because you’re an adult and white you can say racist shit to my brothers, huh? What, you saw his skin color and you assumed? Well, news to _you, bitch—”_

“Master Jason!” Alfred cut in sharply. He shook off his shock and anger and strode forward to grasp onto Jason’s shoulder. “That’s enough. Come, let’s go. Master Bruce has been waiting long enough.” The old man gave a withering glare at the woman. “You will be dealt with shortly, Miss Jackson.”

Jason didn’t take his eyes off of her as he was urged to back away from the woman. Anne didn’t quite get over her shock of being slammed into a pole by a 10-year-old until they were well within arms reach of the gate.

“Just hold it right there!” Anne protested. She hissed at Bill, “Stop recording!” Bill didn’t stop recording. She marched forward, violating the 10-meter line, and pointed a crooked finger at Jason. “Just because I didn’t know your brothers weren’t gyp—”

It wasn’t Jason that interrupted her this time. Surprisingly, it was Tim, who grasped her pointing hand firmly. Before Anne could suck in a breath, she saw—and felt—her world do a somersault. Her body landed roughly in the bushes, the wind knocked out of her lungs.

Bill gaped, his camera still pointed at the scene. Did this eight-year-old just flip an adult woman? Tim turned to the camera and shrugged. “Stranger danger,” he said sweetly.

Alfred, feeling a headache coming on, ushered the children in quickly. The last thing he wanted was for the woman to start screaming.

Dick lagged behind. He stared at the dazed woman in the bushes and pursed his lips. “I’m sorta used to your kind of people these days,” he said, face turning dark. “But if you ever say anything like that to Damian again or in whatever newspaper you’re in, every one of us is coming after you. And didn’t you hear?” He shifted an agitated Damian and leaned forward. _“We’ve got Batman and Superman on our side.”_

* * *

“Wasn’t that a little harsh?” Clark Kent mused. He leaned against the no-doubt priceless mahogany desk, joining his partner in looking out the large window.

A large man sat impassively in his leather chair. His dark hair was ruffled in a way that indicated stress and frustration. Suit immaculate as ever, however, he steepled his fingers and crossed his legs casually. He hummed, feigning ignorance. “Was what harsh?”

Clark rolled his eyes. “You know. Last I heard, Anne Jackson was fired from the Gotham Gazette, and she can’t get a journalist job anywhere in the entire state.”

The man hummed again. Remnants of his fury over the matter threatened to rekindle, but he released his breath, knowing his children were safe. “You heard what she said,” he answered. “You didn’t see Dick’s reaction. He came into my room and burst into tears. Of course, that set Damian off.”

Clark winced. Dick rarely cried. Damian only cried if someone else cried.

“They were mostly tears of anger,” the billionaire continued. “But the damage was done. And furthermore.” He uncrossed his legs to lean forward, observing his children play in his massive garden. His lips twitched. “I warned the press to stay away from my family. I suppose it was about time to set an example.”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

The man huffed in amusement and grasped at Clark’s hand firmly. Dark blue eyes gazed dangerously up at Clark, promises of plans A, B, C, to Z hidden in their depths.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and tell me of any typos! Thank you so much <3


End file.
